


Wishing For Time

by Fire_Bear



Series: FrUK Spring Festival 2017 [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (or rather privateers), (sort of), Day 2, Dead Major Character, FrUKSpringFestival2k17, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Pirates, Science Experiments, Time Travel, Time machine, Wish Fulfillment, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:19:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Francis is devastated at the death of his fiancé. Luckily, Alfred has a time machine and he only needs to go back in time to save him. What could possibly go wrong?





	Wishing For Time

**Author's Note:**

> So I combined the fantasy and the sci-fi options for this day together. Somewhat. There’s not much magic, I’m afraid. But the wish _does_ get granted.
> 
> Kind of.

Francis wasn't sure he'd breathed in the last few weeks.

His fiancé, Arthur, had been three years younger than him and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Sure, they hadn't gotten off to the best of starts but they'd soon found their way into each others' arms. They'd been in love, content to spend the rest of their lives with each other. Arthur had been accepted to a publishing house for assistant's job the same day Francis had asked him to marry him.

It was only two months later that Francis found himself sitting in a church, staring at the surprisingly small coffin in shock.

There had been nothing he could have done, he'd been assured. It wasn't his fault – despite insisting on going out for a picnic in the hot weather. The other driver had been drunk in the middle of the afternoon, he was the one to cause the crash. But Francis had seen him coming and hadn't warned Arthur in time. If he'd been the one driving, he would have been the one in the driver's seat which crumpled as if it had been a can being squeezed. Would Arthur have stopped the car in time had Francis not been teasing him enough for his eyes to leave the road for a _single second_ with a loving look?

The weight of his engagement ring felt heavy as he dazedly followed the coffin from the church on its way to the crematorium.

Arthur's parents would get his ashes. They promised to invite him when they were ready to scatter them to the sea. He'd loved the sea, loved watching the tide. Been sailing once and wanted to buy his own boat when he'd paid off all his student loans.

He was so young.

Where would he have been if Francis hadn't asked him on a date all those years ago? Would he have been at home, curled up with one of his favourite books? Would he have been watching old Doctor Who episodes? Would he have been baking cakes for a local bake sale? Would he have been at work, tirelessly helping an author to make it big?

At the crematorium, the ceremony seemed far too short and then Arthur was gone.

People told him how sorry they were. Francis could see that they really didn't know what else they could say in the face of his dishevelled appearance. He hadn't shaved since the accident, knew that his beard was barely behaving itself. There were dark rings under his eyes – had he slept at all? If he had, the nightmares woke him again.

The wake had all of Arthur's favourite foods – Francis felt sick when he saw them.

When had he last eaten? When had he last drank anything that wasn't alcoholic? When could he flee Arthur's relatives without seeming rude?

Soon, he found himself at Arthur's favourite pub, a glass of Scotch in hand. He stared at it. When had he got here? He couldn't remember consciously entering the establishment or ordering this particular drink. But Arthur would be disappointed if he wasted it so he threw it back and winced as it scorched his throat.

Several glasses later, Francis was openly crying. He'd lost all sense of self-awareness, if he'd had any left to begin with, and was talking to no-one in particular. "I'm all alone now. I just wish-"

"Francis?" said a voice he recognised and he turned to find Alfred standing beside him at the bar. He was dressed in a cheap, black suit, tie undone. Francis wondered if he'd come to the funeral, since he was a friend of both of them. Not that he had noticed who had turned up in the sea of faces. "Are you okay?" the man asked, looking concerned as he sat on the stool beside him.

"Mm. I'm just... I-I miss-" He broke off with a choked sob and Alfred was quick to reach up to squeeze his shoulder.

"I know," Alfred said. "It just... Yeah. D'ya want me to take ya home?"

"No. No, I- I just wish there was some way to get him back. Some way to have more time with him. I wish he was here. I wish, God, I wish I'd never-" Francis buried his face in his hands, sobbing into them. Alfred remained beside him, his hold on his shoulder somewhat comforting.

"Huh. Well, of course you do..."

Frowning, Francis glanced up at his friend: Alfred sounded distant, as if he was contemplating something. "Al?"

Alfred took a breath before turning his eyes to Francis's. "Listen, you can't tell anyone about this but I might be able to help. I mean, I've only tested it on clocks and small animals so I don't know if it'll be safe or anything but... Might be worth a try? It was just a project, really, 'cause, I mean, how  _cool_ would it-"

"Al," Francis said to cut him off. " _What_ might be worth a try?"

"Uh." Alfred grinned at him, rather sheepishly. Then, after glancing around to make sure no-one was listening, he leaned towards Francis and whispered, "I've built a time machine."

* * *

A week later, Francis had made sure to get rid of his awful beard and made himself as handsome as he had been before he'd lost interest in that sort of thing. After all, if he was to save Arthur, he couldn't look anything short of perfect. Then he made his way to the aspiring scientist's home and his garage-cum-lab.

Grinning widely, Alfred had pulled a white sheet off his machine and Francis stared down at it. He was beginning to get a little worried about the whole situation. Alfred's machine had a massive industrial fan strapped to the back of a tall armchair. A dashboard of sorts was attached to the front of the chair with all sorts of levers and buttons and dials fixed to it. Francis spotted duct tape holding cables together. The entire _thing_ was bolted to the floor, though Francis couldn't see how it would be able to move with how heavy it looked.

"Um," he said slowly, staring at the monstrosity. "This thing... works?"

"Yeah!" declared Alfred, excitedly. "I modelled it after the machine in H.G. Wells' novel. Well, the movie, anyway. Maybe not an exact copy..."

"And, well... this actually... works?" Francis asked again, still dubious, his lip curling in disgust.

"Yup. More or less. I mean, it goes  _forwards_ . Not tried going back in time yet."

"Wait a second," Francis said, eyes narrowed. "Are you using me as a test subject?"

"No! I mean... I suppose a little. But, man, Arthur would've  _loved_ to see this. And I can't show it to him unless-" He broke off, looking upset. Francis didn't blame him; his heart had shattered once again and he had to take a shaky breath in order to keep from crying.

"How does it work?" he eventually asked.

"Ah, well, you know how there's four dimensions, right?"

"No," said Francis dryly, already regretting asking.

"Well, there is," Alfred assured him. "Width, height, length and time. So when you travel through time, you're travelling through this fourth dimen-"

"I was really just asking what it runs on. Doesn't it need to reach a certain speed?"

"Ah, well, I've circumvented the need for physical movement. As for the power..." Alfred trailed off and glanced at a thick container, abandoned at the side. "Nothing for you to worry about. It'll have plenty for you to go back and then forwards again. I've got it all completely set up. You just gotta get in."

Reluctantly, Francis clambered in, settling on the lumpy seat. He frowned at how uncomfortable it was and then at the dials in front of him. "What do I do?" he asked.

"See this here?" Alfred said pointing to a little cog which stuck out beside a set of numbers. "This here sets the date you want to get to." He demonstrated by shifting it to the date of the accident. Francis's heart clenched and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself again. He was going to see Arthur once more... Shaking his head, Francis tuned back into what Alfred was saying. "...so be careful with that. This lever makes it go. You'll have to pull it towards you to go back in time and push it forwards to bring yourself back. By the way, when you  _do_ come back, I might be real shocked so you gotta make sure to document everything, 'kay?"

"Right," Francis agreed. "So... I can go  _now_ , yes?"

"Yup," Alfred answered. "Whenever you're ready. Can't guarantee I'll be here when you get back, by the way. If you succeed then I won't have needed to give you the time machine so I'll actually be at work instead of having the day off."

"Wait," said Francis, slowly. "Doesn't this mean that, if I succeed, I'll be trapped back a few months in the past? I mean, if you didn't need to give me the time machine, it will just disappear, won't it? Or... I'll just... disappear...!" He gave Alfred a panicked look.

"Eh..." he replied, looking sheepish. "Maybe? It's not as if we've got specific rules for time travel yet so it could be a case of just being stuck behind in the past for a couple months. If you tell past me his time machine works, I can totally hide you from everyone else, though. Then there could be the whole getting back here and everything's changed thing." He paused then and gave Francis a sympathetic look. "You don't need to do this, y'know. It's totally up to you. If you-"

"No," Francis said, shortly. "I need to save him."

For once, Alfred paused instead of rushing ahead with the preparations. "Are you sure? I mean... I don't think Arthur would-"

"Alfred," said Francis, firmly. "I'm doing this."

"If you're sure," Alfred replied and returned to fiddling with one of the cables. Finally, he stepped back and put his hands on his hips. "All right, then!" he declared. "It's ready to go whenever you are! Happy travels and I'll see you... in a second, I suppose. You want me to make coffee or something?"

"Tea." Francis smiled to himself, remembering Arthur hiding a teasing smile behind his teacup. He wanted to drink tea with him again.

"Er, I- You know what, if I can't find any in the cupboard, I'll go buy some so make sure it's, like, ten minutes or something from now that you come home." With a grin and two thumbs up, Alfred turned and left the garage.

Francis sat in silence, contemplating what he was about to do. He didn't doubt it would work, despite the shoddy workmanship. After all, it simply had to. The weeks since Arthur's death still cut deep within him and he _needed_ to see him. Francis didn't want the last image he had of Arthur being his body slumped over the steering wheel.

So, with a deep breath, Francis grabbed the lever Alfred had told him about and slowly pulled it towards him. Behind him, the industrial fan began to move, slowly at first but it soon began to blow Francis's hair into a tangled mess in front of his face. The seat he sat upon shook and the dashboard rattled. Otherwise, nothing else happened.

Eyes widening at the realisation that his last hope wasn't working as he had hoped, Francis yanked on the lever, pulling it all the way down. Surely, _surely_ it wasn't working because he hadn't done it correctly. There was a switch Alfred had pointed to earlier but he hadn't been paying attention. Was he supposed to press that? It was worth a try, he decided and harshly jabbed it.

A high-pitched screeching noise sounded. Francis froze, clutching to the chair as it shook much more violently. The fan sped up and, slowly, the chair began to move forwards, the screeching growing louder. Slapping his hands over his ears, Francis could only watch in horror as the machine began to move towards the garage door, gaining speed. He was surely about to be squished to death.

If he didn't stop this soon, he would be meeting Arthur in a different way than he had expected.

He didn't want to die like this.

Then, as the machine moved, Francis noticed something odd. The machine was starting to disappear from around him, as if it was slowly turning invisible. He watched the dashboard fade from existence. The arms of the chair faded as well but he could still feel them where he had his elbows placed to prop himself up. And, as the increasing invisibility reached him, he could suddenly see something strange beyond the machine: the garage's colours were blending and changing. Lights sparked and flickered around him, all of different colours. He had a sudden, strange sensation of being wrenched backwards and then he was falling.

There was just enough time to see black above and below him before he plunged into icy water. Shocked, Francis cried out – and immediately realised his mistake. He was still falling, sinking through the water, the clothes he had chosen to wear (similar to that day so as not to alarm Arthur) weighing him down. And he couldn't tell which way was up, darkness so complete pressing down on him. He fought to not breathe, willing his lungs to cooperate.

Even as he thought that he should give in and accept the inevitable, he felt something scrape against his leg. His gasp of surprise made him inhale water and he panicked, thrashing around. He didn't have much time to do that, though, as something suddenlt tugged on the leg of his trousers and pulled, sending him tumbling end over end before he was drawn through the water. In no time at all, he emerged, upside down and spluttering. Once he had coughed out enough water, he took several deep breaths and looked around, wondering what he was hanging from.

Funnily enough, he was hanging from what appeared to be a giant fishing hook. Or just a hook attached to a line which, in turn, was attached to a ship. Not a cruise ship and not a military ship. Not even a yacht.

It was a large, wooden ship, creaking and shifting in the waves as a storm died down on the open sea.

Francis wondered if he'd actually died in the accident and that everything since had been a strange way of easing him into the afterlife. Was this Hell? The boatman which ferried people to Hades or something similar?

He was lifted onto the deck as he stared and unhooked by a sailor who stank of fish and blood. As Francis tried to control his stomach, he was dropped from the hook so that he landed with a hard thump. Around him, there was organised chaos. Sailors were moving to and fro, grabbing ropes and checking supplies. Some of them climbed up the rigging and shouted to their fellows. Francis felt lost just watching them all.

When he returned his attention to the sailor who had saved him to find out just what was going on, the man turned and bellowed along the length of the ship. "Cap'n! We got a stowaway!"

"Wha-?" Francis began. "N-No. That's not what-"

The thumping of a pair of boots hitting the deck cut through the noise surrounding him. Everything stilled. Slowly, those footsteps drew closer. Somehow, they sounded rather familiar. Finally, they stopped, right behind Francis. Swallowing, Francis slowly turned around.

From his position on the deck, he spotted the weather-worn black boots which a pair of horrid brown trousers were tucked into. A belt kept them in place, a sword attached to it on one hip and a pistol on the other. Red cloth curled around the man, part of a long coat which flapped against his legs in the dying wind. A white shirt was next which barely covered what appeared to be a diagonal scar at the top of the man's chest. Francis followed the man's slender neck to his face – and openly gaped.

For there, despite the scowl directed at him, was his Arthur.

It was the same soft lips, the same cute little nose, the same shining green eyes, the same thick eyebrows, the same messy blond hair. He stared as his Arthur finished settling a large hat on his head, a rather wet, blue feather sweeping backwards from it for decoration. Unable to move, Francis reached out to him with his voice. "Arthur?!"

Instantly, the barrel of a pistol was pressed between his eyebrows. The captain of the ship glared down at him and cocked the gun. "How the fuck do you know that?" the man growled. " _No-one_ knows what I look like."

"I-I-" Francis's thoughts flew around his head in disarray. Finally marshalling them into something he could follow, he realised several points. Clearly, this wasn't his Arthur, though that _was_ the man's name. Also, now that he was staring into the man's face, he realised that this Arthur was a good few years younger than his Arthur, shorter by a few inches. Perhaps still a teenager. Also, if he didn't explain himself soon, he'd be shot. But he couldn't exactly tell these people that he'd been time travelling and somehow ended up in the sea – he'd be sent to a psychiatrist. "You just look like someone I know!" he finally squeaked.

A few moments went by as Arthur stared down at him. Then he lifted the pistol and stuck it back in his holster. "Hm. And I take it you don't know which ship you've gotten on?"

"No... I only just got here."

Turning his attention to the sailor who had yelled, Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Pulled him from the sea, Cap'n."

"I see." Arthur turned back to Francis. "And what were you doing in the sea?"

"I..." Francis shrugged. "Fell... overboard. But not from this ship, of course!" he hastened to add. "A-Another one. Er, thank you. For saving me."

There was another short silence. Then Arthur threw his head back and laughed, the other men joining in. It sounded cruel and Francis tried not to flinch. When he'd calmed enough, Arthur looked down at Francis, smirk on his face. It made Francis shudder in anticipation, made him _yearn_ for his Arthur to take him to bed. "You really don't know where you are, do you?" Arthur said. "Listen, mate. You are on the Flying Lion" – Arthur gestured grandly around him – "which, in case you're unaware of this as well, is one of the most feared privateer ships on these waters. We may have saved you, but it won't be for free."

Francis's eyes widened, his mind going to the erotic pirate fiction he'd read. Would Arthur claim him for his cabin boy? Chain him to the wall of his cabin? He frantically shook his head: this wasn't his Arthur and he had to stop thinking like that before he got into any more trouble.

What he _should_ be thinking of, he told himself, was how to get back home. The time machine had disappeared or hadn't travelled with him – and, even if it had, it would be at the bottom of the ocean by now. Maybe Alfred would come to save him. But what if he couldn't? What if he was stuck here and his Arthur was still dead?

"Oi!" shouted the man before him and Francis flinched, leaning away from him as he kicked at the miserable man. "Were you listening? I told you to get below deck. Get the cook to give you a job – my men need to be fed after that storm."

"O-Oh..." Francis muttered. _That_ had been what he'd meant. Francis was yanked to his feet by the sailor who had saved him, the man sneering, evidently unhappy that they were keeping Francis on board. Looking back at Arthur, wondering if he could find help from the captain, he noticed how his face softened into a grin as another sailor gave a cry of delight at having weathered the storm.

As Francis was hauled along the deck, he clutched at his chest with his free hand; his heart was doing a lot of confusing things all at once and he wondered how long it would be before he fell for _this_ Arthur, too.


End file.
